viernes, 29 de enero de 2016

SONNET MONDAL [18.043] Poeta de la India

Sonnet Mondal

Sonnet Mondal, poeta de la India y fundador de la revista literaria The Enchanting Verses. Ha publicado ocho libros de poemas
Sonnet Mondal, poeta de la India y fundador de la revista literaria The Enchanting Verses. Ha publicado ocho libros de poemas, entre ellos Ink and Line [Tinta y renglón] (2014), Prismatic Celluloid (2014), Diorama of Three Diaries (2011) y 21 Lines Fusion Sonnets of 21st Century (2010). Es actualmente uno de los escritores distinguidos del programa International Writing [Escritura Internacional] del proyecto Silk Routes [Rutas de Seda] de la Universidad de Iowa, fundado por el Bureau of South and Central Asian Affairs del Departamento de Estado [Asuntos Exteriores] de los USA.

Sonnet fue presentado como uno de los Famous Five of Bengali Youths [Cinco célebres poetas jóvenes de Bengal] en la revista India Today de 2010 y estuvo en la lista larga de las 100 Celebridades del 2014 de la revista Forbes, como uno de los más reconocidos autores de la India. En marzo de 2015, en sitio web The Culture Trip de Londres, Sonnet Mondal figuró entre los ‘Principales cinco emprendedores literarios de la poesia en inglés de la India’.

Sus poemas han sido incluídos en las siguientes publicaciones: The Sheepshead Review (University of Wisconsin, Green Bay), The Penguin Review (Youngstown State University), Two Thirds North (Stockholm University), Nth Position, Fox Chase Review, The Stremez (Subvencionado por el Ministerio de Cultura, Macedonia) y The Thing Itself Journal (Our Lady of the Lake University, Texas), among others.

Ha representado la India en festivales internacionales como las Struga Poetry Evenings [Tardeadas Poéticas Struga] de Macedonia en 2014 y el Festival Internacional de Poesía de Uskudar, Istanbul, Turquía, organizado por el gobierno turco en 2015.                                       Sitio Web:

Sonnet Mondal is an Indian-English poet and the Founder and Managing Editor of “The Enchanting Verses International Journal” (ISSN-0974-3057-Registration office-ISSN Centre, France and NISCAIR, India). He is also the Founder and Secretary General of the “United Minds For Peace Society” (A Global Peace Organization-Head office-India) and the Sub-Secretary General of Poetas Del Mundo (International Poet’s of the World Movement-Headquarters, Chile). At present, he is pursuing B.E./Btech. Course at BESU, Shibpur, West Bengal in India.


cómo caminan juntos: nuestros heraldos
guerrillas rugen por comida en chozas
de pechos desmoronados
pegados a los labios de esqueletos neonatos.

NO, no hay nada sombrío en eso.

Las estrellas hoy están más luminosas que nunca.
Cada una es tan intensa y constante como la estrella polar,
apelotonadas al lado de las calles de nuestra puerta nacional.
Que Dios bendiga su firmeza!

Nos preguntamos todavía

viendo a ustedes dos en nuestra ‘televisión nacional’ (todavía la única de nuestro pueblo)
si es que alguna vez poedremos ver la nuestra reflección
en la piel pulida de los coches en escolta detrás de ustedes.

Sonriendo de un modo que ustedes llamarían Satánico
caminamos con la tierra arriba de nuestras cabezas.
Los coches de lujo:
nos mostrarán nuestra cara seguramente,
una vez que estas carreteras estén acabadas.

Viéndonos la cara que tendremos entonces,
nos reiríamos seguramente  
como guerrillas.

Translated by Margaret Saine


Love And Walnut

Charcoal burns without flames-
Red heat in the snowy night
Massages stiffened muscles.
A squirrel cracks walnuts of love.
Couples cover up spaces around the bonfire.
Place for one left…
I stand thinking to share it
With the squirrel.
Love has dimensions
Walnuts too.

Swaying Bridge Of Senescence

Why do my heart-beats
Force me:
To place scissors, knives
Upon my naked neck;
To feel
The clotting of blood
Or a flow through capillaries;
Silent in fear of
The cold metallic touch.
Boiling fluids turn icy
The joining bridge of
Life and death
Sways in senescence.

Let Me Bloom

You wait for me to open
Like a new banana leaf,
Or, as petals of a marigold
In dry winters…

You wait for the third eye
To arise and see,
Apart from walking and talking
Crowds, caring relatives
Paying jobs…

Give me water. I will bloom
Into sun
To be for the green and greenery,
For beings that need my warmth
More than you.


Engraved in the steel pages of history,
By bloodshot swords of courage-
Letters of a war – ‘Red’ yet ‘Golden’-
Unwashed by rain, unforgotten by men.

The birds of peace
Were about to sit in the trees,
Between Sparta and Troy-
For the countrymen to rejoice joy.

Wines, fruits and dancing maidens,
Turned the castle in a blissful garden;
Yet on one side in the castle-
The ‘Lady of Love’ was planning a tussle.

Helen gazed, traced and embraced the prince-
Lovingly, noruly yet evidently since
The ‘Love’ stayed under the canopy of fear-
Of her brother,
That broke later before Love’s power.

The younger prince secretly took away Helen-
Crackers, shouts, cheers by men!!
Trouble in disguise waited for them-
I doubt who was to blame!!

Sparta and Greece joined hands!
To capture and revenge the shores of the enemy;
So a fleet of conquerors –
Set off with minds to extend their Empire.

The whole army of Greece
Depended on none but Achilles.
Whose eyes were a glint of sword-
Whose emotion never swayed off words.

His immortal sword struck out once
The boat hit the shore;
His fifty men tore apart –
Troy’s opening door.

Inside Troy’s stone walls,
The soldiers hurried about….
The king and party stood together-
To respond to the Greek shouts…
The next day a fierce war broke out-
Where red fountains spurred up-
Great Greeks fell down before Hector’s frown…

But all along after the temporary win,
Hector knew they were yet to face
Achilles’ wit, style and spear;
The power of horse, the speed of deer.

The daybreak marked another war-
A fight tight for the Greeks this time-
Trojans outshone the armours-
With sudden attack before sunshine.

Achilles in night romance with Hector’s cousin-
Preferred not to be out;
But his cousin-brother went on in his armour-
To be cut dead by the sword of Hector.

Achilles roared out next day-
In a mind for the head of Hector.
A fierce, fearless, gruesome fight,
Marked the fall of the son of Troy.

Twelve days hence the Greeks hit a trick;
To get inside the opaque walls-
They formed as giant horse structure,
To facilitate the entry of butchers.

The Trojans were foolish in their nights-
To undervalue their rival!!
Thinking to have destroyed them-
They engaged their hearts in festival.

At night from the Horse the warriors came out-
As angry louts-
And sleeping Troy was attacked by surprise,
By the strongest enemies in disguise.

Roofs, walls pulled down by fire
Pressed over the countrymen;
Nothing remained saved neither rich nor lame-
The whole Troy dazzled and burned in flames.

Neither Achilles nor the King of Greece hailed the sword,
No Hector no king of Troy was saved in the war!!!
The giant fire swallowed all without bias-
Too add another pillar in the historical dais.

When I meet you

Today the moon seems to be replaced by your face!!!
The stars too seem to reflect your gaze—
A new blood is gushing through my arms…
My wound neglects any more balm…
The cold wind seem to pass on your whisper-
To swing my wits in the feathery air!!!
I hope you too are on the same sail of thoughts-
That spread like ink blots…..
My heart is learning to speak today-
Perhaps to speak when we meet the next day…………


Those blue eyes-how pretty they seem!
As if through it, is reflected a golden gleam;
With all these inherent music they remained still,
Till a blink from one did it with water fill.
The left face started to grizzle-
From the left eye tears began to drizzle,
The right face stayed as it was
Lack of unique vision as it reflects, Alas!
Was that due to some failure or sin?
That caused the bellows of emotion rise higher than the eye rims-
But the other stayed still and neither did blink-
The ball of hope in it hath not yet shrunk.
Lot of nectar doth a rose contain,
Lack of unique vision of a bee may cause death is certain.

Yesterday Once More

My childhood days were gold
I do remember them;
They with golden veil did my feels mold-
But all were short-lived like a short burning flame.
The walks along the fields of grain-
The runs through the narrow lanes,
The catching of fish
Are some of my memories that I still cherish.
As the darkness chilled the air,
I sat by my grandpa to whom I was a dear
And his ghostly stories’ terror
Made me sit nearer and closer.
And the reading of the jungle lore-
Oh! If I had yesterday once more!


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